


Ab Initio

by Aylen



Series: A Capite ad Calcem [1]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cock Warming, Collars, Consent Issues, Domestic, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Public Humiliation, Ring gag, Sexual Slavery, Slave Market, Slavery, happy-ish ending, physical abuse mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-03-14 16:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18951829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylen/pseuds/Aylen
Summary: When Artemis is abruptly sold by his abusive owner, he doesn't have high hopes that his new master will be any better. When the Roman Julian Valerius comes along looking for a bed slave, Artemis' expectations are thrown into a not-unhappy disarray. In this first story in the series, Artemis settles into his new master's household, and finds out just what Julian expects of him behind closed doors.Part of the2770 ab urbe conditauniverse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So for those of you who have read the already published works in this series, this one comes before those two and I have adjusted the series accordingly to reflect the addition~ This work is an introduction to the series; the first in what will hopefully be many more stories to come! I have several lined up already that I will publish after this one, but for now I hope this one satisfies those who have taken the chance and checked it out~!
> 
> And, like I have been with the other stories I've published in this universe, I'm indebted to [Mossgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/MossgreenMossgreen), whose wonderful series [2770 ab urbe condita](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059413) I enjoyed so very much, and who graciously let me contribute to her universe! Please check it out as it's truly a delightful read. 
> 
> Second to last note: For those of you who have read the previous works in this series, I have changed Atticus's name to Julian (or re-arranged them to make Julian his praenomen, anyway) for better phonetic harmony. Hopefully this change isn't too jarring!
> 
> Last note: Please heed the tags if you haven't already! This fic contains sexual activity which may be read as dubcon/non-con due to chattel slavery, but for what it's worth I don't consider such activity very violent in this series. Also note that certain words will be in Latin due to Latin being the official language of the Roman Empire, but translations are provided at the end.

Julian hadn’t really planned on going to the slave markets. He hadn’t thought about it except in passing, ever since it had been finalized that he was getting a raise at the universitas. And his business dealings were doing well, too. 

Oh, he could afford it regardless. Easily. But he didn’t like to spend his money unless it was on necessities. Especially the family money. This was… an extravagance that he _did not need_. And yet, though he was sexually satisfied at home, he was missing something. None of his current slaves were… his own project. Well, all of them were _his_. But he’d inherited most of them when his father died, and had grown up with them. 

And he hadn’t allowed himself the indulgence of someone new… yet. It isn’t like he _has_ to buy one. Just if one looks right. That’s all. 

That’s what he tells himself as he makes his way at an uncharacteristically leisurely pace past the forum. He tries to go around the back of the buildings to catch the shade, and give more thought to his decision. Is he really going to do this? It’s not like they need the help. Well, perhaps they do. He could always send one to stay with his mother off the coast, if they end up with more than they need. She wouldn’t mind. 

He arrives at the Basilica Aemilia perhaps sooner than he expected, but once he’s there, he doesn’t hesitate. 

The building was originally two stories but has now been expanded to ten, the rest all in steel and glass. Most of the building comprises of offices, and the ground floor is shops, but it only takes a moment to take the wide marble steps down to the large subterranean room where most of the slaves are. Some are on the ground and even first floors, but those are premium merchandise; the most expensive, the most beautiful, and trained every which way to service the super wealthy. 

The merchant hall is the size and height of two large gymnasia, and sunlight pours into the room from glass windows near the ceiling, illuminating the throngs of regular slaves on the floor and the many people milling about and examining the wares. Julian takes it all in as he goes down the staircase, looking into the room through a glass wall. Before he can go in, though, he’ll first need to check in through security to demonstrate that he’s not armed. 

As he goes, men and a few women pass with their own newly bought slaves, who are wearing the flimsy grey tunics provided by the dealers for a few sesterces. The slaves on the floor weren’t permitted any such modesty. 

At security, Julian scans his thumb for identification and goes through the metal detectors and past the burly guards. 

Security is tight for the safety and well-being of the slaves and prospective buyers, but… it’s also in place to make sure the slaves don’t attempt escape. Not that they would get very far. They all have trackers implanted in the back of their necks, and bulky collars with extra trackers, tags, lights, and devices that scream with noise, or shock the wearer into immobility when going past a designated sensor, or when activated by remote security. But the proprietors of the market don’t want a scene, so all necessary precautions are taken to prevent that. 

When Julian’s finally on the floor, it doesn’t take long to exclude several sections from his perusing. He doesn’t want the labourers, the professionals, the too young or too old. He goes past the slavegirls with half an interest, but none of the dozens on display particularly appeal to him. He tells himself again that it’s not a loss if he doesn’t find one. He shouldn’t really be here anyway. 

Most slaves are standing, or else sitting huddled together on industrial-grade mats, wearing nothing but collars, which beep with a blue light every few seconds. They stay in their pens, which are invisibly marked out using sensors on the floor. If the slaves go out of their space, the collar beeps. Some - the most formidable or harsh looking ones - have manacles holding their hands behind their backs, and chains bolted to the floor. These slaves are required to be marked clearly to show that they have behavioral issues. 

All slaves wear information tags around their neck as well, with details about their weight, health, origin, temperament, and any skills or defects.

Some of the stock are strung up on display, with cuffs on their wrists and/or with their ankles spread apart and attached to metal supports, which keep their vulnerable and private parts exposed for viewing or physical examination, for serious buyers anyway. Julian doesn’t stare as a matter of course, but it’s difficult not to get aroused by the displays, which is precisely the point. 

A few slaves, probably not for sale, are wearing special collars or gags or other bondage equipment next to their owner’s product. Julian recognizes one display section as Phallusy’s, a brand he enjoys for its high quality, and those instructional videos the company puts out… 

In one section of the floor is the auction. Auctions aren’t always put on, but the afternoon is a good time to catch them. There, gorgeous male and female slaves and professional slaves of every origin are showcased. There, the most unusual and talented are put on display. However most slaves on the floor do _not_ go up for auction. They are haggled over and bought with little fanfare. 

Somehow, he ends up in the male body-slave section. _Somehow—_ or his subconscious. He doesn’t know why he’s kidding with himself. Of course he would end up here, knowing his tastes. He sighs and scans the men and boys with a critical eye. He isn’t too hopeful of finding anything he likes, but it can’t hurt to check. 

He approaches an olive-toned man with a pretty face, standing with his arms crossed and watching the crowds discreetly from under long eyelashes. The slave’s gaze snaps to him before dropping as he straightens. Julian admires his black glossy hair and the set of his lips, and squeezes the slave’s arm muscles to gauge his strength. Julian glances to the slave’s cock before tilting his chin up with a gentle finger. 

“Look up,” he says, and the slave does. He has beautiful brown eyes, and a lovely physique.

The seller notices him and comes over, then. “He’s very good in bed, sir,” the man says, and the slave flushes. 

Julian hums, reaching to grab his ass and watch the slave jerk subtly and swallow, but keep his eyes down. Julian releases the man. “Perhaps another time,” he says with a smile to the dealer. As he leaves, the seller gives the slave a small annoyed shove, and Julian tries not to feel badly for the man. It’s not his fault. 

He looks at dark-skinned slaves and pale, blonde ones. Thin and muscled, younger and older, although none of them appear older than would be useful. Some interest him, but none strike him as anything special, especially when he reads their infoplates. He’s wondering if he should try in a different section, when a wild mop of wavy auburn hair makes him stop. The boy with the startling hair is pale, curled up on the floor with his arms around his knees, by two other slaves in a seller’s section with a dozen others. There are a smattering of freckles on his arms and shoulder blades—along with a few whip marks—and when Julian gets closer he can see that the slave’s eyes are red and wet as if he’s been crying. Upon Julian’s approach, the slave tenses, glancing up at him before keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. Julian sighs. 

“Up,” he says gently, and the slave quickly wipes his face and scrambles awkwardly to his feet, sniffing. The slave frowns and blinks rapidly at him before looking down and fidgeting with his hands, biting his lip. The slave is clearly nervous, but after that, the first thing Julian notices is that, although he doesn't have a conventionally attractive face, it's still very pretty, with freckles along the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks. The shape of his face isn’t pointed or smooth, he has high cheek bones, and his jaw is angular and almost androgenous. His mouth is a peculiar shape, like a slash across his face, but his eyes… “Look at me,” Julian says, barely audible, and the slave does, his gaze nervous. A beautiful gaze. A stunning array of blues and greens, with a splash of ochre in the center. 

Julian’s eyebrows draw together. This boy might be unconventionally attractive but he isn’t a complete loss. So what’s he doing down _here_? Julian looks at the info tag around his neck and holds it up. 

‘Name: Artemis,’ he reads on the tag. That’s a female name, isn’t it? Odd. To be named after a Greek goddess. Perhaps his mother hoped it would bring him luck, or maybe it was given to him later... 

‘Age: XXII.’ Young but not too young. Julian can practically hear the slave’s heart going a mile a minute, and he does wish the boy would calm down. ‘Temperament: Good. Skills: Sexual Service, Cooking, Gardening, Pet Care.’ _Pet Care_? Had he worked in a shop? His weight is good, if a little on the low side—

“Sir, can I help you with anything?” the merchant says, coming out of nowhere with a large fake smile. Julian turns to him and gives him a cool smile in return. 

“Yes, if I could take a look at this one’s records…?”

“Oh yes, of course, sir, one moment,” the stocky man says with a short bow, and goes back to his sales desk to get the tablet computer. 

Julian turns back to the slave and reads the rest of his card. ‘Faults: Shy, Skittish, Distracted, Antisocial.’

The slave is looking down again, head bowed, as he fidgets with his nails and chews his lip. Julian presses his lips together, unimpressed. Yes he can see now why he’s down here. Poor thing. It doesn’t seem like he has a bad temper though. He’s relatively calm, if nervous, just… unengaged. And anxious. Probably just had a bad owner—or several. 

“Here you are, sir,” the merchant says after a moment, handing the tablet to Julian. Then Julian hears the merchant hiss in the slave’s ear, “ _Stand up straight_ ,” and the slave does with a jerk, swallowing and looking ashamed of himself as he stops the nervous tics. 

The merchant laughs, seeming to enjoy the slave’s discomfort, and Julian gives him a flat look before perusing the tablet to look over the slave’s detailed information. 

“This pretty one has a tendency to be a bit distracted,” the merchant says as Julian reads, looking out at the crowd of people, who study the wares as they pass by, “but he’s still a good fuck.” He gives Julian a pointed look and raises his eyebrow, giving the slave’s arm a rub and then smacking him with a grin. 

The slave winces and a scarlet flush makes his face ruddy with embarrassment and distress. His eyes brim with fresh tears and Julian wishes dearly to give him a hug. 

“You can uh… try out the merchandise before you buy, if you’d—”

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Julian says quickly, giving the man a short smile before dropping it and going back to the tablet.

“Of course, sir,” the man says after a moment, giving Artemis a sharp look before going to chat with customers looking at his other stock. The slave watches him go with clear resentment written on his face. 

“Well he’s unpleasant,” Julian says to the boy quietly after a moment, watching him, and Artemis’ eyes snap to his for a second before dropping. He smiles slightly despite his red eyes and opens his mouth, as if unsure what to say. 

“Um, s-somewhat, sir,” he says with a small smile, and Julian smiles back, pleased to have gotten at least that out of him. Artemis looks at him shyly, as if reconsidering him, and Julian meets his gaze before scanning the tablet again. 

“You’ve… been owned by many people,” he says after a moment, looking at the slave’s history. Born to a slave mother in a middle class household then sold to the Slave Administration Bureau when he was just a baby, then moved from one house to the next. Not necessarily for bad behaviour, though. That’s just the last one. The file notes that he was a server for a catering business, but was slow at the work and dropped things, breaking them. Does he have coordination issues? He also attempted to steal a book from a house’s library. _Gods_ , stealing? But it is slightly more forgivable in Julian’s eyes that he only wanted knowledge. 

At Julian’s words, the slave’s eyes seem to fill with tears again. “Y-yes, sir,” he says. “But I tried to be good, I-I—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Julian shushes, and Artemis looks down and sniffs, looking away demurely. Julian watches him, and feels reluctant to leave this one here. His heart’s already started to hurt for the slave—the boy’s remorse seems genuine, and he has a sweet way about him. Whatever he did to get sold all those times can’t have been as bad as it seemed. He just… needs someone to care for him. Care _about_ him. 

Flicking through the file to the health section, Julian notes that the boy’s in good health, been vaccinated, no cavities, no sexual issues. He has one pierced ear, no tattoos. His recent misdemeanors are listed as well as the punishments. 

Julian hums and carefully puts a finger under the slave’s chin, tipping it up so he can see his face. He examines him critically, looking for anything the file might have conveniently left off. If he’s going to pay a small fortune for a slave he better be getting his money’s worth. He brushes the slave’s cheek with his thumb, loving the cute freckles and his soft skin, before slipping his thumb over the slave’s lip into his mouth and urging him to open it, which he does. Julian then takes a small flashlight from his bag and shines it into the slave’s mouth. Teeth look good, just as the file said. 

He releases the slave’s mouth and then runs fingers through the slave’s hair and down his back. He turns him and looks at the cuts on his back from the whip. Ridiculous, marking him like that. Well, they’ve started to heal anyway and don’t look infected so that’s good. He moves a finger over one and the slave jerks away slightly and hisses. 

“Sorry,” Julian says softly, moving his hand down to the slave’s ass. He palms it gently, fingers brushing over and down to his legs. Going back to the front, his hands move to the boy’s chest, his nipples. The slave inhales and tries to school his face. A smile twitches at Julian’s lips, and he finally moves down to the slave’s cock. It’s not very big, nestled in light pubic hair, but that doesn’t matter. He takes the shaft and balls in his hand and feels clinically, testing their weight and watching the slave’s face for a reaction. The boy’s staring hard at the floor, fingers twitching, but he’s flushing and getting harder. So that’s good. Julian rubs along the shaft gently, teasing him and making the slave bite his lip, before he lets him go and squeezes his shoulder. “Good boy,” he says quietly, and the slave relaxes slightly, flushing like a ripening peach. 

Julian considers him for a moment more. Yes, he’ll do. 

“Come with me,” he says to the slave, taking his thin, freckled shoulder. The dealer approaches with another big smile, aware that he’s about to make a sale on a damaged slave. “I think I will take a look at him. Just an examination, though,” Julian says with another smile of his own. He had wanted to reassure the slave earlier but he knows this part is important. And he won’t be fucking him, anyway. 

Julian thinks though, if the slave starts crying again he might just take him home without bothering. An afraid, distressed slave would never get aroused properly so it would be a waste of time. 

“Of course, of course, sir,” the man says, and leads them the few steps to a curtained set of what look like changing rooms beside the set-up for slave merchandise and stock information cards. He unlocks the door and opens it, motioning them in. “Call me if you need anything,” he says, as Julian gives the slave a small nudge into the room. 

The slave looks around the space nervously as Julian comes in and hangs up his pallium. The little room does look like a changing room, and it has a high stool as well, though it isn’t for sitting on. 

On a small shelf to the side, there are rubber gloves in a box, as well as lube, hand sanitizer, and tissues. 

“Now I’m just going to take a look at you, Artemis,” he says gently, taking a pair of gloves from the box and pulling them on. Artemis nods, but his eyebrows are drawn and his breath is shaky. 

“Yes, sir,” Artemis says, swallowing nervously and biting his lip. Julian watches his face carefully, a little hesitant to continue taking into account the slave’s anxiety, but that’s probably just to be expected. 

“Turn around and bend over the stool, please.”

“Yes, sir,” the slave says, and leans over the stool, gripping the legs as his chest presses against the seat. 

“Good boy,” Julian says, wanting to reassure the boy and make him more comfortable. He squirts lube onto one gloved hand. Oh, what a pretty sight that is. He puts his dry hand onto Artemis’ back, reaching up to squeeze his neck once. “Hands behind you,” he says, and Artemis brings them up, holding them at the small of his back. “Legs apart,” he says then, nudging the slave’s bare foot with his booted one, and Artemis shifts easily. “Good boy.” 

Julian can see the boy’s face shift at the praise, his eyebrows drawing in confusion and a darker flush coming to his cheeks. He’s probably not used to it, poor thing. 

“Alright… just stay still,” he says gently, and then takes Artemis’ wrists in one large hand at the slave’s lower back as he crouches down and examines the slave’s fluttering hole. No sign of damage, thankfully. He takes a precursory look at his cock and balls before he stands up again and lubes up the slave’s entrance. He’s tight, but not unrelenting. After a second the boy relaxes, allowing Julian to ease his thumb in. Oh, that’s nice. Artemis’ breathing picks up and he shifts slightly, but doesn’t fight it. Julian pushes into the knuckle, then gets another finger in. The slave whimpers just slightly. “Anything hurt?” Julian asks immediately, not wanting to cause pain and also not wanting to damage property he doesn’t own yet. Artemis shakes his head. 

“No, sir.” 

“Good.” 

Julian gets a third finger in, and then slowly rocks it out and in, watching Artemis’ face, and glancing down to his cock, which has hardened and is just slightly weeping. Good. He eases his fingers out and they come out clean. So either they had cleaned the slaves beforehand, or they just haven’t fed them. The second option is probably more likely. Julian quickly wipes off and re-lubes his fingers before teasing the slave’s perineum, and then massaging his balls and taking hold of his dick. Julian rubs up and down gently, then harder when Artemis’ mouth opens and his eyes squeeze shut. He cries out softly, more like a whimper, and bucks his hips. Julian grins, releasing Artemis’ hands and using some of the residual lube to massage his hole and perineum again. 

Artemis comes with a soft cry, his release painting the floor. Julian huffs a soft laugh and milks him further until he’s squirming and whining, just on the verge of begging him to stop. Julian grins and moves back, watching Artemis pant, a thin sheen of sweat coating his thighs and back, his legs trembling with the strain of keeping himself in the awkward position. Julian takes the gloves off and throws them in the trash before patting Artemis’ ass. 

“So responsive,” he says, and Artemis makes another small noise, his lips tugging up into a smile. Julian laughs softly and grabs another tissue, doing a quick clean of Artemis’ cock and hole before throwing that away too. 

“Thank you, sir,” the slave says quietly, and Julian hums, pleased with the gratitude. 

“You’re welcome. Stand up, now,” he says gently, and Artemis does carefully, gripping the stool for balance. He takes a deep breath and lowers his gaze again. Julian gives his cheek a quick brush before putting his pallium back on and opening the door. “Come with me.” 

Artemis sticks close, face still red and sensitive cock flushed, but studiously keeping his eyes on the floor. Julian glances back at him for a second before completing the sale. The merchant wants seven thousand sesterces for the boy but Julian gets him down to four thousand. He personally thinks the slave is worth much more than that, but he uses the scars on his back and his antisocial behaviour to easily drive the price down. _He_ doesn’t think those necessarily detract from the slave’s worth, or are even serious problems, but he knows the market does. 

Next, the ownership is transferred. This the merchant does, taking Artemis’ hands and putting each of his thumbprints on the machine scanner in turn - the law requires the slave's fingerprints to be registered with each sale. 

When the fingerprint scan is finished Artemis draws his hands back almost quickly enough to be considered impertinence, but the merchant doesn’t seem to notice and Julian is satisfied to see the slave inch closer to _him_ to get away from the other man. 

Throughout the process, the merchant looks like the cat who got the canary. Well, let him, Julian thinks. If, somehow, he’s getting scammed here, at least he can say his heart was in the right place. Or his fingers. 

The seller gives him a cheap tunic, which Artemis pulls on when Julian hands it to him, and secures the waist tie. Then the merchant puts cord restraints onto the slave’s wrists, pulling them secure but not tight. He then unlocks the collar and takes the info tag off. Artemis sighs. 

“Thank you very much, sir,” the merchant says with a bow when the transaction is complete. 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Julian says coolly before he takes the lead on Artemis’ cuffs and starts off out of the hall. Artemis hurries to keep up with him. 

Outside the building, Julian hails a taxa capra to take them back, since the weather’s nice and Artemis is still barefoot. Bare feet are fine at home, but he doesn’t like the idea of his slaves walking around without shoes on the streets of Rome. They’re mostly clean, but there can occasionally be broken glass and nails and who knows what else littered about. That would be one expensive trip to the emergency room, that’s for sure. He’ll get Artemis some shoes eventually, but he doesn’t think he’ll be leaving the domus for a while. And bare feet discourage… any ill-advised attempts at freedom. 

He helps the slave into the buggy and then climbs in after him, keeping the lead on Artemis’ cord cuffs around his wrist. Artemis seems to relax as well, his gaze taking in the back street with tired interest. 

“You can rest if you want,” Julian says, looking to his shoulder meaningfully, and Artemis shivers and then nods. 

“Yes, s— _Dominus_.” 

Julian gives him a small smile. “We’ll get you something to eat and drink when we get back home,” he reassures, and Artemis nods. 

“Thank you, Dominus.” 

“Well, we can’t have you starve, now, can we?” he asks, and Artemis hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. 

“No, Dominus.” 

Especially not after all the money he paid for him. 

“My name is Julian Atticus Valerius, by the way,” he says, realizing he should probably get it into the slave’s head who he belongs to. 

“Yes, Dominus”

“Rest now,” Julian says, patting his shoulder, and Artemis follows the order this time, setting his head down. “There’s a good boy.” 

Julian thinks he feels Artemis shiver slightly at the praise, and the slave seems to lean into him almost subconsciously, perhaps seeking his warmth and protection? It’s sweet. Endearing, even, and Julian puts a large hand on the slave’s thigh proprietarily, rubbing gently, providing comfort but also reminding the slave of his place. The slave shifts slightly but doesn’t seem to mind, almost seeming to cuddle a little into Julian’s neck, his hands close to his new master’s lap. As if a weight has been lifted off him and he can relax for the first time in what Julian assumes has been a stressful transition period. 

The sounds of the forum slowly leave them for the humming of the city as the cyclist weaves through the pedestrian and other taxatraffic, taking them at a breezy clip back to Julian’s domus. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Ab Initio_ \- "from the beginning"  
>  _pallium_ \- colourful outer garment worn by citizens, less formal and cumbersome than a toga, and could be worn in a variety of ways, depending on personal preference  
>  _taxa capra_ \- ‘taxi cab’/pedicab/bicycle powered covered taxi  
>  _domus_ \- house  
>  _dominus_ \- master [Latin is a language which uses case endings for words. 'dominus' is the nominative form of the word for master, and slaves should technically use the form 'domine' when addressing their master directly; this is the vocative case, the form of the word used when directly addressing someone. (The feminine equivalent, 'domina' has the identical ending in both the nominative and vocative cases.)]
> 
>  **Currency conversion note:** (1 ses = 6.5 usd, roughly)  
> 4,000 sesterces = £20,500 gbp = $26,000 usd  
> 7,000 sesterces = £35,400 gbp = $45,000 usd
> 
> Please also note: my tumblrs or dreamwidth are good places to reach me if you have comments/questions you want to ask me directly (asks/DMs are open), or if perhaps something in the work seems inaccurate. I invite notes on accuracy but I am mostly just writing this for my enjoyment and have adopted my own style for writing in this shared universe, so not everything will match up with other works. Thank you! :-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slave market from Artemis' POV~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be gratuitous but... well, yeah I have no excuse :') Also please note that the rest of the chapters in this fic and most fics in the series will be from Artemis' POV following this one~

Another sale. Another owner. Another chance to screw up. Not like he has a choice. He just… can’t get it together well enough, apparently. And last time… he’d got himself whipped for it. Now nobody will want him. Especially with his strange face. 

When his mistress Casa loved him… Artemis doesn’t think he’ll ever have it better than that. There’s always another husband to get jealous and throw him right back out the door. Then the catering company had bought him, and he’d let them down. He’d tried to make friends, but it never really worked. 

So now he’s here, again. Each disgrace knocking more sesterces off his value. He’s sure it won’t be long before the nearest brothel won’t even take him. And he’ll be forced into the factories to be worked into an early grave. Well, maybe it’ll be a blessing. It’s all he’s good for, apparently. 

The slap comes out of nowhere, and he reels from the shock. Sextus, the merchant, yells in his face: “Stop looking so sullen you stupid bitch!” The man shoves him. “Go sit down where nobody’ll confuse you with the good stock, hm?” he says, and Artemis glares for a fraction of a second before remembering himself. He nods tersely and goes where the man points, glad that at least he doesn’t have to stand naked in front of the staring hoards. Monsters, the lot of them. 

He sits down, careful of his back, and tucks his legs close to him. He can’t help the tears that escape. He’s tired and hungry and now not even the merchant can stand him. 

The din of the crowd, the distant crying of a woman in the other section, the yells of some poor slave being separated from a loved one, the tacky music trying to calm confused patrons… it all becomes a fog of noise pulsing at his skull. Oh, gods, how he wishes for even a moment of peace. 

It’s then that he sees someone approaching. They aren’t coming towards _him_ , are they? Why would they? It’s a mistake, or just someone who wants to watch him weep like a child about his miserable city-slave life. 

“Up,” says a firm voice, and Artemis wipes his face and gets to his feet, sniffing. He risks a glance up. The man is _handsome_. He looks back down. Stupid. He shouldn’t have—

“Look at me.”

 _Gods_. 

Artemis looks up nervously, ready to be slapped again. But the man’s face is careful and, well, not angry. So that’s good. 

When the Roman takes his tag, Artemis swallows an undignified whimper. Shut up. It’s fine. 

“Sir, can I help you with anything?” 

That’s the merchant, and Artemis winces at his words. 

“Yes, if I could take a look at this one’s records…?” the man says.

“Oh yes, of course, sir, one moment.”

The man looks at his card again. Artemis tries to be unobtrusive. 

“Here you are, sir,” the merchant says, and then, to Artemis, “ _stand up straight_.” Artemis _jerks_ upright, face heating. Stupid fucking Sextus. If he wants to sell him he won’t whisper things into his ear where Romans can hear. “This pretty one has a tendency to be a bit distracted,” the merchant says, “but he’s still a good fuck.” 

Artemis jolts like he’s been slapped again and wishes he could hide. Oh, he fucking hates this. Being what he is. Talked about like he’s an object. Nothing matters. Certainly not his dignity. 

“You can uh… try out the merchandise before you buy, if you’d—”

Artemis’ eyes widen. 

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

He slumps in relief. Though…not like he’d even mind with someone like this man. It’d better than being fucked by fat old cooks, that’s for sure. 

“Of course, sir.” 

Hatefully, Artemis watches him go. 

“...Well he’s unpleasant,” the Roman says, and Artemis looks at him sharply. _What?_ He opens his mouth.

“Um, s-somewhat, sir,” he says, somehow smiling at this man who might buy him. The Roman smiles, and somehow, it’s a beautiful thing. 

“You’ve… been owned by many people,” the Roman says, and Artemis crumples. Oh, the man is reading his file. No, don’t do that. It’s all in the past now, anyway. But the Roman doesn’t think so. 

Artemis sniffs, horrified, when tears comes to his eyes again. “Y-yes, sir. But I tried to be good, I-I—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” the Roman shushes, and Artemis just stops himself from continuing. But he closes his mouth and drops his eyes. He just wants to be good. That’s all. 

The Roman studies his file, then after a few minutes, tilts Artemis’ head up. Artemis tried to stay still, though he’s surprised when the man’s thumb strays to his mouth. ‘ _Open_ ’is the silent command, and he does. 

When the man opens his mouth the rest of the way and shines a flashlight in, Artemis is ashamed that his dick twitches. _Gods_ , he’s a shameful, confused being. 

Then the Roman is running fingers through his hair, and it feels good, and he doesn’t mind as much when the man turns Artemis to look at his back. But when one of his cuts is touched, a frision of pain shoots down him.

“ _Ahh_ ,” Artemis hisses, pulling away before he thinks about it. The cuts bring back fresh memories from just days ago. 

“Oh, I’m sorry...” the Roman says, and sounds like he means it. Artemis isn’t sure if he does, because then the man is touching him all over. On his ass, then his nipples. He shouldn’t be this sensitive, still, but this man is… attractive… and gentle. 

Artemis gasps when the Roman takes his cock in hand. _Oh, Jupiter._ He resists the urge to shove the man’s hands off him. It’s all he can do to stare at the floor and bear it, even as he hardens. _Futuō_ , he hopes he isn’t embarrassing himself. 

“Good boy,” the Roman says, and Artemis inhales softly. Praise? For doing what? He’s done nothing… but he likes the words more than he can say. They nearly bring tears to his eyes. “Come with me,” the man says, and then Artemis is being drawn along to the dealer. He shivers and leans into the Roman without even thinking about it. He doesn’t know why he does it. It’s not like this man has bought him yet. He could very well leave him here in a moment, but then why…?

“I think I will take a look at him. Just an examination, though.”

Artemis swallows a whimper. What more is there to inspect of him? 

“Of course, of course, sir.” 

They go to the inspection rooms, and Artemis tries to calm his racing heart. Is he going to fuck him now? Is that what this is?

He hesitates, and the Roman gives him a small push. He looks around the space nervously. He’s seen other slaves go in here. Heard their groans and cries and seen them come out dazed and dripping with come… he backs into a corner as the Roman comes in and takes his pallium off. Artemis wraps his arms around himself 

“Now I’m just going to take a look at you, Artemis,” the Roman says far more softly than he expects, and pulls on gloves. _Oh, gods_. Artemis nods, trying not to show fear.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Turn around and bend over the stool, please.”

Artemis bites back another whimper, thinking of all the people who’d fucked him in the past with no thought of being gentle. Patrons of parties he’d served at. Guests of his mistress. Some were gentle. Most weren’t. They took what they wanted with no care as to whether he was in pain or not. What if this one wasn’t even going to buy him? Was just going to defile him and leave him here to get yelled at by the merchant again. Then dumped in another section with the _really_ used slaves. 

“Yes, sir,” he says faintly, turning and leaning down over the wooden stool with his ass exposed. Oh, he hates this. He blinks back tears. 

“Good boy,” the man says, and Artemis feels a shiver run up his spine even as he hears the squirt of a bottle. More praise? For _what?_ It makes him feel a little better, but what is he doing back there, exactly? Is he going to lube up his cock now? Push into him? At least he’s _using_ lube. He remembers in a flash the incredibly unpleasant experience of some horny customer of his previous owner spitting on his cock and trying to fuck him that way. The memory of the pain, and the blood, and the doctor’s visit afterwards still makes him feel cold fear drip down his chest like ice. 

But the Roman puts his large, warm hand onto Artemis’ back and smooths it up to his neck, squeezing there, and Artemis finds himself relaxing into the calming touch. The man doesn’t rush, isn’t being cruel. It’s almost reassuring. 

“Hands behind you,” the man says, and Artemis does, a little shakily, holding his forearm with one hand. He almost wishes he were restrained. At least that way he wouldn’t need to concentrate on keeping his limbs in a certain place. “Legs apart.” Artemis swallows, and his dick twitches when the man’s boot nudges his bare foot. Artemis shifts his legs apart. “Good boy.” 

Artemis feels like he might cry. Honestly, even if this man does fuck him roughly, it’ll have been worth it for the kind words. He hasn’t heard as many words like that in last few minutes than he’s heard in the last _three months._

“Alright… just stay still.” The man takes Artemis’ wrists in one large hand and crouches down. Artemis focuses on staying calm, on not thinking about this stranger looking at his most intimate parts. Not like he isn’t used to it… but it’s not like it ever becomes entirely pleasant. 

After a minute, the Roman stands, and then there are lubed fingers at his entrance. He inhales sharply in surprise but then relaxes. It doesn’t hurt, and the man’s going slow. It actually feels _good_ as it slides in. There’s a slight burn that makes him whimper, but he takes the second finger well, he thinks. 

“Anything hurt?” 

Artemis blinks. What? He’s being _asked?_ It takes him a second to get over his _shock_ , and the flush of relief at the words, before he can answer. 

“N-no, sir.” 

“Good.” 

A third finger breaches him, and then pushes in and out. Artemis keeps himself receptive and can’t help that he’s getting hard and his dick’s started to weep from this. He bites his lip, wanting to moan and buck back into the man’s fingers. But the man takes them out—too early for his liking—and he hears the sound of the bottle again. Then the Roman is teasing Artemis’ balls and grabbing his dick. _Fuck_. Artemis wriggles, unable to buck down, and his mouth falls open. _Sweet mercy_. He cries out and gets a little friction, and then the Roman releases his hands, and massages him more, just under his dick as well as jerking him off. It feels incredible, and he thinks he’s going to— 

He comes with a helpless cry, squirting his seed as heat and pleasure envelop him. _Oh… oh_. But suddenly with a bolt of fear he wonders if he should have asked first, but he was so surprised at being jerked off, and the man hadn’t asked him to… The Roman keeps at it, too, and soon it’s so much, too much, and he can’t help the whine that crawls out of his throat. 

“S—”

He can’t say it, but then the Roman releases him with a small chuckle. Artemis shakes slightly, feeling the cool air on his damp body. He feels like wet cloth, now. He hears the sound of something dropping into the trash, and then the man’s warm hands are on his ass again, patting gently. He flinches, stifling a whimper. 

“So responsive,” he says, and Artemis bites his lip. _Responsive?_ Is that a good thing? Or not? He _hopes_ it’s good… The Roman laughs gently before Artemis hears the sound of a tissue being pulled from the box, and then he’s wiping him off. Artemis cringes slightly, but is thankful for being cleaned up.

“Thank you, sir,” he says quietly, and the Roman hums. 

“You’re welcome. Stand up, now, ” he says gently, and Artemis holds onto the stool, breathing deeply and keeping his eyes on the floor, though he desperately wants to look into the man’s face. The Roman strokes the back of his fingers against Artemis’ cheek, then, and he shivers, so grateful for the touch. The Roman puts his pallium back on. “Come with me.” 

Now that’s an order he can follow, Artemis thinks as he sticks close to the man, almost trying to hide behind him. He’s still naked in this place filled with free, clothed people wandering around and looking at the other slaves without embarrassment, touching and laughing. Artemis hopes that his time here is almost over.

Thankfully, his wish seems to have been granted, because the Roman is buying him! Artemis could cry with relief. Perhaps the man will turn out to be cruel in private, but he’s dealt with that before. He’s just… exhausted and cold and hungry, now. He almost doesn’t care where he goes next, as long as he can curl up and sleep somewhere dark. 

He’s handed a tunic then and he forces himself to pull it on slowly, but immediately afterwards, he feels a little more human, even if it brushes painfully against the cuts on his back. He secures the tie around his waist and then his hands are being bound in front of him by the merchant. Which is understandable, though annoying. His temporary collar is taken off, and the tags. He sighs, glad to be rid of the heavy things. The Roman takes the lead attachedto the light cuffs and Artemis swallows. So this is it, then. He’s owned again. 

He doesn’t give the merchant another thought as he follows along behind his new master.

As they walk out of the suffocating slave market and into the bright, cool plaza behind the forum, Artemis allows himself to admire the Roman—whose name he doesn’t even _know_ yet—and who now possesses his digital ownership papers. The man is handsome, classically so, with a strong jaw and a Grecian nose, intense grey eyes, and a fit body. He’s clean-shaven with short but not close-cropped brown, wind-tousled hair. He has a slight receding hairline but it almost adds to his attractiveness in a dignified sort of way. He carries himself as all good Romans do, but without the pompous airs some put on. He’s direct and understated, and he doesn’t pull on Artemis’ lead. He keeps up a fair pace but he glances back every so often to make sure Artemis isn’t falling behind. 

It’s… appreciated. 

The Roman gets a taxa capra and Artemis thinks for a moment that he might be made to walk or trot behind, but the Roman pushes him up into it and sits next to him. Artemis would kneel but there isn’t enough room. His breathing picks up nervously at their proximity and his confusion at the unusual circumstances, but he tries to hide it. He shivers and tries to tuck himself in so as not to use any more space than necessary as they get going, his careful gaze taking everything in while still being hyper-aware of the man next to him. 

“You can rest if you want,” the Roman says, and Artemis sees him motion to his shoulder. What…? He’s being told he can…? But he needs a bath, probably. He doesn’t want to dirty the man’s tunic with his own sweat and whatever else is on him. 

“Yes, s— _Dominus_.” He catches himself before he says ‘sir’, remembering that now this man has a title to him, and he better use it if he doesn’t want to get whipped again. At least for the first few times. 

The Roman gives him a smile, and Artemis relaxes a little more, returning it shyly. 

“We’ll get you something to eat and drink when we get back home,” the Roman says, and Artemis sighs with thankfulness. Yes, he would like that very much. 

“Thank you, Dominus.” 

“Well, we can’t have you starve, now, can we?” he asks, and Artemis hesitates for a moment, thinking about how that’s exactly what some previous masters who’ve owned him have wanted. No use feeding slaves more than they need. It just makes them bold and… presumptuous. Or so they’d told him. 

He shakes his head. “No, Dominus.” 

The Roman looks at him for a moment. 

“My name is Julian Atticus Valerius, by the way,” he says, and Artemis nods slowly, absorbing the information. Committing it to memory. He knows how important it is as a slave to know who you belong to. 

“Yes, Dominus.”

The Roman, Julian, turns back to the road. “Rest now,” he says, a little more firmly, and Artemis nods, shifting to lean against his owner. Though he feels exhausted, being this close to his new owner sends his anxiety into overdrive, but he’s not about to disobey an order, especially not twenty minutes after he’s been sold. And it’s actually decently comfortable and warm, with his head pillowed on the Roman’s pallium. 

“There’s a good boy.” 

_A good boy._ Artemis feels drunk with praise, and a little less worried about making a wrong move. Of course, it could call be an act. Or the man could switch between sweet and angry in an instant; Artemis doesn’t know him. But he might as well enjoy it while it lasts. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **translation:**  
>  _futuō_ \- fuck


	3. Chapter 3

It doesn’t take too long for them to get back… home. To his master’s domus. They pull up to a large house on the corner of an active and respectable street, though it has less traffic than the main thoroughfare. There’s a park a block away that Artemis can see, and large umbrella pines line the streets, casting them in shade. 

He follows with trepidation as Julian takes him to the large iron door, which is almost immediately opened by the ostiārius inside. Artemis follows, looking around discreetly but curiously. At the end of the hall he can see the ātrium and impluvium, with a small fountain bubbling away and potted plants around, and a tablīnum beyond. The door-slave, a large nervous-looking man, takes Julian’s pallium as they enter the house. 

In the ātrium, as if waiting for them, is a slim, handsome older slave perhaps fifteen years Julian’s senior, with short, cropped, greying hair, and a physique lither than the master’s. An attractive goatee adorns his lined but bright face and he holds a tablet in his hands, though his clear, pale blue eyes are fixed on Artemis, and the hint of a smile tugs his lips. 

“Hello, Markus, I’m glad you didn’t burn down the place while I was away,” Julian says lightly, and Artemis is shocked at the casual tease. What…?

“ _Dominus,_ ” Markus says with a wide smile, his eyes going back to Julian as they meet by the impluvium. “I am _saddened_ you think such a thing of me.” His eyebrows are drawn as if in pain, but his smile is pleased. 

Julian huffs a laugh. “Yes, I’d hope not, or we’d _both_ be out of a home.”

“Quite.” Markus’ gaze lands on Artemis again.

“Oh yes, this is Artemis,” Julian says at his look, urging Artemis in front of him with a large hand on his back. Artemis’ eyes widen in surprise and he straightens nervously. He knows this man is a slave from the silver chain collar around his neck, but he’s an important one if he can banter with the master like this. 

Markus smiles. “Oh, he’s very pretty.” Artemis flushes red. 

“Be nice,” Julian warns, giving Markus a look, but Markus just grins. 

“Of course, Dominus,” he says, giving the master of the house a nod. 

“Get him something to eat, would you? I’ll be right there.” 

“Of course. Your pet is safe with me.” 

Julian snorts and gives Artemis a quick squeeze on his hips. “Do as Markus says, alright, Ari?” 

Artemis glances back at him for a quick second—Ari? That’s a new one—before nodding. “Yes, Dominus.” 

“Good boy.”

Artemis swallows and Julian turns away, going to the tablīnum. 

“Alright, let's see that,” Markus says, taking a small knife from his belt and giving Artemis a fright before he cuts through the cuffs. 

“Oh, thank you, sir.”

Markus puts the cord in a little pouch at his belt and gives Artemis a small, shrewd smile. “It’s just Markus. No need for titles, hm?”

“Oh… right. Sorry. Markus.”

Markus smiles. “Good. And you’re welcome. You’re home now, yeah? Now come on, follow me.”

Artemis nods and follows Markus to the corridor beside the tablīnum. As they go, he can see a girl in the shade in the peristȳlium doing some kind of needlework. She looks up at him guardedly, before lowering her eyes as they approach under the portico. 

“Artemis, meet Pria,” Markus says when they reach her. “You two should get along. Pria, this is Artemis.”

“Hello, Pria,” he says with a small smile, and she nods at him. 

“Nice to meet you, Artemis,” she says, her eyes straying to his tunic.

“He’s new,” Markus says sternly, “so if he has any questions you answer them, alright?” 

“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” she says, going back to her sewing. “He shan’t do wrong while I’m around.” She smiles and Markus shakes his head with a small huffed laugh. 

“Come on,” he says to Artemis, going past a curtain and through a door by the triclīnium. This one, Artemis can see, leads into an interior hallway, and is narrower and darker and clearly more for slave use. But Markus doesn’t lead Artemis down there; instead they go through the door immediately ahead, and step into a large, warm, modern culīna. Seated at the central island is a tired-looking man in a chef’s uniform, working at a small laptop. He looks at them and his eyes scan Artemis critically. He opens his mouth to speak. 

“Amos, this is Artemis,” Markus says first, opening the frigisarca. 

“Salvē. Nice to meet you,” Artemis says, hoping he doesn’t make too terrible of a first impression. 

“Salvē,” Amos the cook says back, eyes still sharp but his mouth set in a flat smile. “So where’d you come from, then?” he asks bluntly, leaning back and crossing his arms. 

Markus sighs as he takes a container of something out of the stainless steel refrigeration unit. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says to Artemis, who’s looking at Amos, somewhat at a loss. 

What does he even say? Is the slave market what this man is asking? Or his previous master’s location? Or possibly where he was born, which he doesn’t know except that it was in Rome.

Markus’ gaze lingers on him like he wants to know too, but isn’t about to push. 

Amos snorts. “Come on, tell us about yourself, huh? Where were you last?” His expression softens. 

“Oh.” Artemis tenses slightly. “Well, I was um, I was owned by a catering company.” A company that provided sexual service as well, he doesn’t say. 

Amos narrows his eyes. “A catering company. Like for food? Do you know how to cook, then? Or were you mostly a server? What what happened that got you sold, huh?”

“ _Amos_ ,” Markus warns, anger in his tone. Artemis looks between them nervously. 

“Oh come on—”

“It just—” Artemis starts, and they both look at him. “Didn’t work out. That’s all.” He looks down. 

“You don’t have to tell us anything, kid,” Markus says gently. Amos sighs. 

“Alright, alright… but can you cook?” 

Artemis swallows. “I can a little. Nothing fancy though.”

Amos hums. “Eh, that’s enough. It’s more than some can do.” He turns back to his laptop and Artemis breathes an imperceptible sigh of relief that the interrogation is over. 

The microwave beeps, and then Markus pushes a bowl of what looks like porridge at him over the kitchen island. “Here,” he says, “eat up. Pull up a chair. There’s more where that came from, too.”

“Oh, _thank you_ ,” Artemis says gratefully, his eyes widening at the food. There’s real fruit and cinnamon mixed in. He sits and shoves a spoonful of food into his mouth, sighing at finally feeling something in his belly. Markus also gets him a glass of milk which he downs quickly. 

He’s so engrossed in his food he doesn’t notice when Markus and Amos glance to the doorway, Amos getting up off his chair. 

“Dominus,” they both say, and then there’s a warm hand on Artemis’ neck before he can react. 

“Salvē,” Julian says, directing his attention at Artemis, who swallows quickly, his heart going a mile a minute as he moves to stand. 

“Dominus—”

“No, you stay there,” Julian says gently with a small smile, taking a seat at the island himself. Artemis hesitantly sits back down and Amos does too. The master seems out of place but also comfortable in the dim but warmly lit culīna. It’s where the slaves prepare the meals, but ultimately he owns the place, and them. He has every right to be here. 

Amos keeps working at his computer and Markus has taken out a tabula and is typing on it, not looking at them. 

Artemis keeps his hands in his lap with his head bowed slightly. 

“Relax, Ari,” Julian says with a smile, motioning with his chin to the bowl. “Don’t stop on my account, hm? I just wanted to make sure you were eating.”

There’s that nickname again. Artemis supposes it isn’t that bad. He might have even been called that in the past by someone… 

He nods. “Yes, Dominus,” he says, nervously taking his spoon again. He is _famished_ , and it’s not difficult to keep eating, even with the master of the house looking at him while he does it. Julian turns to the others. 

“Amos, did you get that order figured out? The shellfish and whatnot with the dealer…”

“Oh, yes, Dominus. I had to go down there myself and speak to the manager of that place—” Amos mutters a curse under his breath and Julian smiles, “threatened never to go there again, but they did lower their prices to a _reasonable_ amount.” Amos shakes his head and Julian grins. 

“Good man. I knew their prices were exorbitant. Don’t order from them again, hm? I don’t want to deal with that kind of swindling.”

“No, Dominus, I would never.”

Julian snorts. “Good. I like those Black Sea lobsters without paying a fortune for them. Ridiculous.”

“I know. I had half a mind to show them what was what but—” Julian gives him a look. “But I did not, I did not!” The cook raises his hands in surrender and they both laugh, Markus smiling at them as if they were two schoolboys. 

Artemis has to keep the shock off his face at their camaraderie. The two house slaves seem to be on perfectly agreeable terms with their master, but he’s only _heard_ of masters who were that lenient and… liked. Unless they’re faking it. Which they very well could be. But for some reason Artemis thinks they aren’t. Not right now anyway. 

The master talks some more business with them as Artemis finishes and then Markus takes his empty bowl and glass and Julian rises, squeezing Artemis’ shoulder. Artemis shivers, taking the direction and standing as well. 

“Let me know how the dinner party planning for next week goes,” Julian says to Amos as they’re leaving, and Amos calls out an affirmative. Artemis hears them start talking again when they pass the arched doorway. 

Julian leads him down the slave hall to another room, this one with a heavily glazed glass door which slides open into the wall with the touch of a button. Inside is… a sparse utility room. There’s not much to it, though the walls are a clean cream and the floor is comprised of a pretty black and white mosaic. There are several heavy tables made of glossy wood; one in the middle and one off to the side. On the far side separated from the rest of the room by only a glass wall are a stone bathtub and several showers set into the wall. On the right side is another sliding door, closed, leading to a different room. 

The glass door slides shut behind them. “Alright, if I could get you to strip please, Ari,” Julian says gently, crossing his arms as he leans against the nearer table. “I’m going to do a more thorough examination of you and then you can have a shower.” 

Artemis swallows down his anxiety and weariness and nods, pulling the cheap tunic over his head. Julian takes it from him and puts it in a bin under the bench before smiling and coming up to him again, looking him up and down before… turning him around. Artemis reddens and curls in on himself slightly, self-conscious about the whip marks on his back. He’s sure the reason for them was in his file when Julian bought him, so he must know why they’re there… but it doesn’t mean he’s any less ashamed of them, though. 

He waits for a touch on the cuts, but there’s nothing. Julian holds his shoulder gently and examines him. 

“Hmm, and how did you get these?” he asks softly, rubbing Artemis’ shoulder. Artemis swallows. 

“I… I dropped a vase and broke it, Dominus,” he says, cheeks colouring as he remembers. Remembers the calls in his direction, his fingers slipping as he moved a flower arrangement, surprised and confused by unwelcome attention. One moment of inattention, and…

Julian is silent for a moment. “Is that all?” he asks, voice still low and without too much judgement. He squeezes Artemis’ shoulder and Artemis shivers. 

“Um, I… there were… other slaves. They were talking about me, started jeering and I just… lost my grip.” His head drops down a little in shame. “I should’ve—”

“Did they get punished as well?” 

Aritemis takes a second to register what Julian said, and then wonders why he cares. 

“Um… no,” he says. “They… left quickly and nobody knew.”

“Devils,” Julian curses and Artemis flinches. “Sorry, Ari. That’s just unfortunate. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Artemis glances back at Julian hesitantly, then nods. “Thank you, Dominus,” he says, and Julian gives him a squeeze. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks after a second. 

Artemis swallows. “Yes, Dominus.”

“Fuck.” 

Artemis flinches at Julian’s curse. 

“I’m sorry, Ari, I should have dealt with that first. Of course it would. They didn’t give you anything for it?”

Artemis almost smiles. No, of course not. Why would the slave dealers waste painkillers on slaves?

He just shakes his head. “No, Dominus.” 

Julian hisses. “Alright, well, we’ll get you something for that. You can have a shower now, but there’s one more thing I want to do first…” 

Artemis turns to him and Julian opens a leather bag on his belt and takes out a glinting silver chain. Artemis inhales slightly, knowing exactly what it is—a collar. Julian holds it up. Artemis swallows and drops his eyes, turning to give his new master access to his neck, and Julian’s hands are warm on his skin as he draws the cool links past his throat. They’re heavy, but smooth, and Artemis has a sudden pulse of fear as Julian secures the discreet chain lock with a _click_. The noise has a finality to it that set his heart beating hard in his chest. 

He takes even breaths, feeling the weight on him. The collar is too small for him to slip over his head; he can’t even see it looking down. But it’s not tight. It’s not uncomfortable, per se. But he knows it’s there. And everyone else will, too. That’s the point. The point is to let people know that he’s owned, that’s he’s just an object in the eyes of the law, a tool to be used. But… Julian doesn’t seem like an unkind master, and somehow Artemis almost feels comforted that he’s wearing a permanent collar again. At least he knows now that he has a place to sleep at night again, and a home to go to. He has someone who, for better or worse, is responsible for him, and lawfully has to make sure that he’s fed and taken care of—to a degree. 

The collar also lends weight to Julian’s authority. Though of course Artemis is bound to obey him even if he were wearing nothing at all, the collar is a reminder. A reminder that he _is_ owned, like a dog, and can be chained and leashed and locked down, or ordered about. Until he dies, if he’s never freed. He is Julian’s to command, to punish, to bestow affection. To sell. 

But hopefully, if Artemis is very lucky, perhaps this time he won’t want that last to happen. 

“Thank you, Dominus,” he says, as Julian’s hands go to his shoulders, squeezing. 

“You’re welcome. This is as much for your safety as my insurance. You will of course let me know if it gets damaged in any way,” Julian says, with _but won’t be coming off any time soon, regardless_ , going unspoken. 

Artemis nods. “Yes, Dominus.”

Julian hums and gives his head a kiss. “Good boy,” he says. “You can have a shower now, alright? Be gentle with those,” he says, in reference to the cuts. 

“Yes, Dominus,” Artemis says again, going to the shower. 

Julian sighs and goes to the bench again, leaning back and taking out his phone, tapping on it and giving Artemis a tiny bit of privacy as he goes to the shower. It’s not much, since the only divider is made of clear glass, but Artemis appreciates not being unashamedly gawked at anyway. 

He turns on the water and lets it run warm before stepping in. Then he dutifully washes himself with soap, shampoo, and conditioner, using the dispensers attached to the wall. The water makes his cuts sting only slightly and he keeps the temperature down so as not to aggravate them. He keeps his eyes averted but he can still feel Julian’s eyes on him at several moments, though he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

At some point an intercom Artemis hadn’t noticed beeps. Julian goes over to it and presses the receive button. The shower is too loud for Artemis to make out what they’re saying, but he could swear he heard ‘medicus’ mentioned. He swallows, tries not to think about it, and finishes washing up. He uses the head of the removable shower head to get some hard-to-reach places, and then returns it to its place. 

When he’s finished he turns off the water and gets out, shaking himself off and dripping onto the wooden bath mat, wrapping his arms around himself. He sees towels on a rack to the side but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to take one.

“Dry yourself off, hm?” Julian says, not looking up from his phone, and Artemis nods, looking at him for just a brief anxious moment, before grabbing one and perfunctorily drying himself off with it. 

He’s just doing his hair when there’s a knock at the door. He looks up, holding the towel in front of himself as Julian goes to open it. Not surprisingly, there’s a medicus there with a bag, Rullus just behind. Artemis’ pulse speeds up and he goes over to Julian submissively as the medicus steps in to greet his master. 

“Hello, Medicus Candidus, Thank you so much for coming.”

“It was no problem at all, Magister Valerius,” the medicus replies, shocking Artemis a little. _Magister_? But he keeps his expression in check as the two talk, and tries not to get nervous. But he is. What will the medicus want to know? What will he _do?_

“So this is him?” the medicus says after he’s come in and the door’s closed, giving Artemis a cool once-over. Artemis feels his cheeks heat up and he holds the towel tighter. 

“Yes this is him,” Julian says, and holds a hand out without looking at Artemis. Artemis swallows down a whine and reluctantly hands over the towel, leaving himself naked in front of the two free Romans, utterly aware of how powerless he is to stop this. He knows it’s necessary right now, and the man is a _doctor_ , but the easy and casual way his nudity is demanded, and expected to be borne without a smidgen of complaint, despite any feelings of discomfort he might have himself, is… always degrading. He keeps his eyes down and stands straight, letting himself be examined. 

It is… a little easier knowing the man is a doctor and not some leering stranger. He realizes suddenly that he already doesn’t think of Julian as a leering stranger, even if he is? He’s _Dominus_ now so that just… doesn’t apply. And he’s been kind to him so far…

The medicus, a kind but serious-looking Roman with auburn hair like Artemis and worn, competent hands, hums and sets his bag down on a chair by the wall before turning back to them. 

“Sit up on the table,” he says to Artemis, taking a small flashlight from a bag at his belt, and Artemis gets up onto it gingerly, trying not to be self-conscious about his soft cock sitting flaccid between his legs. He crosses his ankles nervously. The table is about the same size as a medical bed, and as he gets a little more comfortable, Artemis wonders if that’s on purpose—it’s an examination table. 

He keeps his eyes down, but apparently that's not what the medicus wants. 

“Look at me, slave,” the man says, and Artemis looks up but colours uncomfortably at the tone, though he keeps his expression neutral. The medicus shines the light in his eyes, holding up his hand. “Look here,” he instructs. Behind the medicus, Julian watches casually with arms crossed. Strangely, Artemis takes comfort in his presence. He doesn’t think this man would take his pleasure with the master here. Hopefully. He doesn’t think the master would offer, either. But what does he know?

Next, the medicus taps his chin to get him to open his mouth, then shines the light in there, examining his teeth like Julian had. And probably other things like the condition of his gums. He’d had this done many times before and always wondered what exactly they were looking for. He thought he had pretty decent teeth. He’d always eaten decently, too.

A lice check comes after, and the medicus combs through his wet hair, then makes him stand again as he looks over his torso, arms and legs. The man brushes his nipples and holds his cock in hand, weighing it and rolling his balls between his fingers. Artemis goes red, keeping his eyes averted even as he can feel Julian’s eyes on his nether regions. 

The medicus moves on without comment. “Turn please,” he says, touching his arm, and Artemis swallows but does as he’s asked, twisting to show his back. He doesn’t go all the way, as the cuts prevent the movement. The medicus hums, shifting to see better. 

“How does it look?” Julian says after a moment, and Artemis flinches at his hard tone, feeling another wave of guilt and shame. 

“Mmm, stand up, slave,” the medicus says, and turns to Julian. “It’s not as bad as I thought, but the scarring is deep and it wasn’t cared for in the best way. I’m thinking I’ll probably give him a round of antibiotics and recommend a medicated salve for someone to administer twice a day for a month.”

He turns back to Artemis and examines him a little more now that he’s standing, taking his flashlight and checking the skin of his back. Artemis keeps his eyes resolutely down and tries not to flinch at the touch. Tears gather at his eyes without his permission and he sniffs softly, remembering the beating like it was yesterday. Remembers being strung up in front of the whole staff of slaves and—

There’s a hand on his cheek. He startles and glances up enough to know that it’s the master. He inhales shakily but that only makes tears come more, and then Julian is shushing him and there’s a cloth at his eyes as he wipes his tears. 

“It’s alright,” the master says gently, and Artemis shudders, nodding and wrapping his arms around himself slightly. He suddenly has a chill. Julian runs a hand through Artemis’ hair and then tips his head onto his shoulder. Artemis shivers and his shoulders go up defensively even as he tries to take comfort in the action. It’s difficult, because he’s also petrified of this kindness, sure it will have to be paid for later. But it does distract him, and then he hears the medicus typing on a tablet. 

“Can the slave remember what happened with more detail?” he asks eventually, seeming slightly distracted by his notes. Artemis swallows and Master lets him straighten, though his hand stays on his neck. Julian’s eyes are intense on his face but not in a way that makes Artemis think he’s in trouble. He thinks back to that night and takes a shaky breath, opening his mouth before shyly looking to Julian for permission to speak. 

“Go on,” Julian says gently, “whatever you remember. If it’s not too difficult.”

Artemis shakes his head. “No, it’s not too d-difficult, Dominus,” he says. “Um… i-it was a—” He takes a breath, keeping his eyes fixed on Master’s indigo tunic. The pale, fine stitching against the patterned fabric. “A whip,” he says faintly. 

When there’s no response except the continued soft noise of fingers against glass, he continues. 

“It was, ah, maybe a week ago now. It um— lasted f-five or so minutes I t-think.” He bites his lip. It had seemed like an _hour_ to him, though. He’d thought he might possibly die while it was happening. “I p-passed out and th—” He whimpers as the memories come flooding back. The silence except for his own begging and screaming, the overseer’s harsh counting. The blinding pain on his back, on his wrists. He doesn’t realize he’s crying again until Master is pulling his head back into his shoulder and shushing him, putting one impossibly gentle hand on his back, not over any cuts. 

“It’s alright, Artemis. Shh. This might be too much for him, medicus,” Julian says to the medicus, who hums.

“A few more details would be helpful,” the man says. Julian rubs Artemis’ back and doesn’t say anything. Artemis takes a breath, his throat thick. 

“Um… th-they rinsed me off with water,” he says, and a shiver ripples through him as he swallows. “And left me alone for a few days until I was taken to be… be s-sold.”

“Alright. Thank you, we don’t need more right now,” Master says, rubbing his arm and stroking his neck. “That’s helpful.” Artemis nods and tries to calm down so his tears don’t dampen Master’s tunic. 

“Good, that’s all good information to have,” the medicus says, typing a bit more on his tablet before going to his bag. He puts the tablet away and there’s the snap of gloves. 

Artemis flinches, but Julian calms him again, the strong hand on his neck squeezing softly. It settles him in a way that’s difficult to describe. The touch is gentle and warm. 

“Now, just a quick check, shouldn’t take too long, if the slave could bend over the table…” the medicus says. Artemis stiffens and flushes red, eyes widening. 

Why would he want him to do that…? But he knows why, and he’s already starting to move when Julian holds him still. Keeping him close for a minute before pressing a kiss to his head and giving him another rub, letting him go. But the master keeps a hand on Artemis’ arm as he moves, and comes closer to the table when Artemis obediently bends over with his arms curled by his head. 

The master rubs his shoulder. “Good boy,” he says softly, and Artemis shivers, his eyelids fluttering at the praise. Julian then slips a hand into his hair and rubs soothingly as the medicus hums and gently pulls his cheeks apart to look at his entrance. Artemis squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on Julian’s hand in his damp hair, the soft pressure of it. He doesn’t think about how the medicus is carefully prodding him, how his most intimate part is exposed for this stranger to see. But he’s a medicus, so he stays professional. It’s fine. 

“He looks alright,” the medicus says finally, standing up and pulling off the gloves. 

Julian shifts but keeps his hands in Artemis’ hair. “Good. There’s no…”

“No. The only thing to worry about is his back which I’ll send you over a prescription for.”

Julian sighs. “Good. Thank you so much, medicus.”

“It was no trouble,” the medicus says, going back to his bag and packing up his things. The master smooths his hand over Artemis’ neck and squeezes once before trailing his hand down the slave’s arm.

“You can stand up now,” he says quietly, and Artemis does so, keeping his eyes down as the medicus packs up and leaves. 

“Thank you for being good for that,” the master says simply when the man’s gone, turning and looking at him, eyes straying down, down to his cock and back up, more perfunctory than anything. Artemis knows that he sees the redness of his face, the barely-there tear stains. 

“Yes, Dominus,” he says. 

“We’ll get the antibiotics and you’ll take them until you don’t need to anymore. I’ll have Markus administer the salve, and you’ll get painkillers, too… which should all help.”

Artemis feels tears at his eyes again. “Yes, Dominus. Thank you, Dominus. I’m immensely grateful for your kindness.” Suddenly overwhelmed, he kneels and leans down, kissing each of Julian’s sandaled feet once. He stays there with his head bowed, curled at his master’s feet and properly submissive. 

A moment passes and then Julian crouches down, and put one large, warm hand on his jaw. He tilts it up and Artemis lifts his head without looking at his master, swallowing. Julian rubs his cheek gently. 

“I want you to be healthy, Ari. It’s my duty to see that you are, now that you’re mine. _A capite ad calcem_. From head to heel, you are mine.”

Artemis’ eyebrows knit. He hadn’t heard that sentiment from any master before. It’s… surprising. And welcomed. Immensely so. He looks into Julian’ eyes briefly and then looks away, more unexplainable tears glistening in his eyes. 

“Y-yes, Dominus,” he says, swallowing, and there’s a beat before Julian is pulling him into a gentle but tight hug. 

Artemis freezes. The master is _hugging_ him? 

His back does hurt a little from the touch but Artemis doesn’t care. Carefully, lightly, he hugs back. Just a little. Just enough so his master doesn’t think him rude. He doesn’t want to overstep his bounds. 

But it means so much to him despite that. No matter what happens. The fact that his new master is showing him any affection at all, so quickly, is… well, he’s just never known that before. 

But he should just accept it as the comfort it is. Gods know there’s only so much comfort a slave can expect to receive in his life, so you have to take it where you can get it. 

He sniffs his tears back and sighs into the embrace, trying not to think about it too much. Trying to just focus on the warmth of his master’s body and ignoring the hurt of the cuts littering his back, the weariness he feels. This is nice. This is… more than he would have ever dared ask for. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _domus_ \- house  
>  _ostiārius_ \- doorman  
>  _ātrium_ \- open central court / formal entrance hall  
>  _impluvium_ \- a low basin in the center of a household ātrium, into which rainwater flowed down from the roof through the compluvium (a space left unroofed over the ātrium)  
>  _tablīnum_ \- the study for the paterfamilias - office or study of the paterfamilias, usually open to the ātrium on one side and the garden on the other. where he carried out any business and received his clients  
>  _pallium_ \- colourful outer garment worn by citizens, less formal and cumbersome than a toga, and could be worn in a variety of ways, depending on personal preference  
>  _dominus_ \- master  
>  _peristȳlium_ \- a peristyle, an open interior space (sometimes a garden) surrounded by columns  
>  _triclīnium_ \- dining room  
>  _portico_ \- roof supported by columns at regular intervals  
>  _salvē_ \- hello! welcome! farewell! (to one person)  
>  _culīna_ \- kitchen  
>  _frigisarca / frigis_ \- refrigerator  
>  _tabula_ \- tablet computer  
>  _medicus_ \- doctor
> 
>  **Note** : Perhaps differently than stories written by others in this collection, for my series I have taken the view that collars are an optional item to be worn by slaves at the master’s discretion and are not necessarily the mark of a runaway or problem slave. There are many different types of collars, the robustness of which is of course up to the owner of the slave, the severity of the crime, or any such other reason for which it's worn.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian enjoys Artemis a little and gets him the rest of the way settled into the household.

Julian gives Artemis a clean new tunic to wear and drops him off with Markus. Markus shows him around the slave and family areas, and gives him a rundown of what he might be expected to do. His duties will ultimately be up to the master to decide, whether he wants to let Artemis do housework or stay with him, or something else. Markus has a tense look in his eye as he says that that makes Artemis uncomfortable. But he doesn’t ask. He’s given some easy laundry chores before dinner, when he’s kept in the kitchen to help with the dishes. 

After the master’s meal, Artemis has a quick supper with the other slaves before he’s deposited in the tablīnum by Markus, where Julian is working at his computer. 

“Dominus,” Markus says with a slight bow of his head, and Julian glances to him slyly. 

“Thank you, Markus,” he says, before looking back to his screen as Markus leaves. There's a small smile on the older slave’s face as he goes. 

Artemis isn’t sure what to do for a second before he remembers himself and straightens, adopting a relaxed ‘at attention’ position with his hands clasped behind him and his eyes lowered. He senses that Julian might have glanced at him but he can’t be sure. Julian types away on his slim, gleaming keyboard for several minutes before turning to him. 

“Ari,” he says with a sigh, standing and coming over to him. Artemis swallows and forces himself to keep his eyes down as Julian grasps his shoulders gently. 

“Dominus,” Artemis says. 

Julian doesn’t say anything for a moment. “And how are you settling in?”

Nodding, Artemis looks up into his master’s clear, sharp eyes briefly. “Very well, Dominus,” he says. “The others have been very welcoming and helpful.”

Julian looks at him carefully for a minute before giving him a small smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Artemis nods, and the silence stretches as Julian examines him. One of Julian’s hands come up and brushes his cheek gently with the backs of it. “And you’re feeling alright?” he asks. “I know a lot’s happened today.” 

Artemis feels like he could collapse where he stands considering what’s happened today, but he doesn’t think feeling tired counts as feeling _not_ alright. And he doesn’t want his new master to think that he isn’t capable of dealing with it. 

“I’m alright, Dominus,” he says, keeping his eyes down. Julian takes him in carefully. 

“Mm. Well, alright. This shouldn’t take too much energy anyway.” He pets Artemis’ cheek again and goes to his desk, opening a drawer and taking out… something. 

Artemis’ eyes go slightly wide when he realizes what it is. It’s a gag with a circular bit, presumably to keep his mouth open. He’s never tried one of those before…

“Now this shouldn’t hurt you,” Julian says, holding the gag up. “The metal is covered in silicone, see?” He holds it up and Artemis swallows and nods. 

“Yes, Dominus.”

“So it should be softer on your teeth.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

“You know what this is, yes?”

“Yes, Dominus,” Artemis says with a nod. It’s a gag to keep his mouth open for oral sex. Presumably because his master doesn’t trust him not to scrape his cock with his teeth, or bite it right off… 

Julian hums. “Do you have a problem with wearing it?” he asks. “Any health problems I should know about that you haven’t told me about already?”

Artemis pales slightly but shakes his head after a moment. Sadly, the problem of _not wanting to wear it_ isn’t a valid medical condition. At least not when you’re a slave. “No, Dominus,” he says. Julian watches him and then pets his cheek again gently. 

“Good boy. Come here then,” he says, sitting back on his desk chair and moving it back, motioning for Artemis to kneel, which he does. Julian brings his head closer with a hand on his jaw and Artemis shifts accordingly on the stone tile, wetting his lips in preparation. “Open.” 

Artemis does, and Julian prise his mouth open further with his thumb gently and fitting the gag in. It stretches his jaw open wide as his teeth settle onto it, but it’s not a terrible feeling. The pressure is strange, and he feels horribly exposed, especially since Master’s tablīnum is right between the ātrium and the peristȳlium. There are curtains and decorative plants and columns that offer a modicum of privacy, but he truly is an object to be used instead of a person in this situation. This doesn’t upset him, as he’s known this is the way of the world since he had conscious thought. But despite that, he can’t help the reddening of his face, the terrifying urge to run and hide. He takes a deep breath and blinks quickly to stop the tears from coming. 

Master hums, his thumb coming back and running over the edge of the gag, over Artemis’ teeth. 

“Alright come around,” he says, gently tugging Artemis’ collar to get him to move in the right direction. Artemis shivers, and knows that anyone could walk in and see him like this. Though he supposes it’s a small mercy that his head is hidden under the slim desk. 

Master holds his collar lightly and then shifts up in the chair, exposing his cock from under his tunic. Artemis shudders and does as Julian wants, scooting closer and letting his cock slip into his mouth. The only sound of appreciation he gets is a slight exhalation of breath, and Master’s hand on the back of his head pulling him down to the hilt, his nose in musky pubic hair. Artemis chokes but holds the pose, shifting even as his need to breathe becomes more urgent. His throat convulses and Master groans, then lets Artemis back slightly. Artemis coughs and swallows but doesn’t move off. He takes a few steadying breaths of heady warm air and then moves back as far as he can take. He starts to smooth his tongue around the head, sure that his master wants to get off, but Julian laughs softly and runs a hand through Artemis’ hair. 

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” he says, petting him. “You don’t need to do anything right now. Just like this is enough.”

Artemis shivers and makes a small noise, rubbing his cheek against Julian’s fuzzy thigh lightly. Julian hums and pets his hair, and Artemis sighs, feeling the weight and texture and taste of his master’s cock in his mouth. It’s not a bad taste. He could get used to it, he thinks. 

Eventually, Artemis hears the master start typing on his keyboard again, the clicks of his mouse as he works. 

Artemis relaxes, settling on the stone tile as much as he can. It’s nice, in an odd way. It’s nice to be here in this place being taken care of and not worked to the bone or beaten, yet anyway. It’s nice to be able to service his master sexually in a way that doesn’t leave him with bruises all over. He feels safe, for the first time in a long time. And unless he’s got it all wrong, this place seems reasonable. The other slaves are relaxed and the master hasn’t even raised his voice yet. He could be wrong, and nothing is as it seems, but… well, he wants desperately to believe that it isn’t. 

After a while, Artemis hears footsteps approaching. He tenses and his eyes fly open, though he can’t move to see anything more than Master’s chest. 

Master’s hand threads into his hair and holds on gently, keeping him in place. Artemis breathing picks up just slightly. 

It’s Markus. Come to talk to Master about a client who sent a message about something. Artemis doesn’t know what they’re talking about. He focuses on Master’s hand in his hair. Doesn’t think about his embarrassment. But it’s fine. Markus won’t say anything. Might not even be looking at him. And Artemis doesn’t think he’d say anything to him later about it. They’re both slaves. This is what happens, and they can’t do anything to change the situation. 

And soon Markus is gone, and Julian pets him gently. “There there,” he says, and Artemis thinks he can hear amusement in his voice. _Gods._ He sighs, and eventually relaxes a little again. 

They stay there with Artemis warming Julian’s cock and Julian doing work for what seems like an hour. Artemis’ knees and hands and jaw are sore, though he’s trying not to think about it. 

Julian yawns and stretches his wrist, his hand going back to Artemis’ hair, his neck, his cheek. 

“How are you doing, hm?” he asks, looking down at him with a smirk. Artemis shivers and hums an ‘alright’ around Julian’s cock. Julian hums and pets him, running large hands through Artemis’ curls, his fingers going over the gag. He seems to shiver slightly at the adjusting stimulation of Artemis’ mouth on him, and then he gives him one more pet. “Alright, back up, let’s take this off,” he says, and Artemis nearly sighs with relief. 

He shifts back, letting Master’s cock slip from his mouth, a trail of saliva and precome connecting it and Artemis’ mouth. Julian hums at the sight, his cock twitching, but carefully reaches around and unbuckles the gag. He slips it out of Artemis’ mouth and sets it aside. Artemis shivers and stretches his sore jaw, wiping his mouth and resting for a minute against Julian’s thigh. Julian strokes him a little more and he relaxes into the touch. 

But then, before Artemis is really ready, Julian takes his jaw in his hand and brings him back. “Alright now you can suck me off,” he says, hunger in his eyes, and Artemis feels a pulse of fear and nerves go through him, his eyes widening, but he swallows but nods. He preps himself mentally and then carefully gets his master’s cock in his mouth again, this time taking care to cover his teeth with his lips, and gets to work. He laves and sucks, hollowing his cheeks like he’s learned to do, watching Julian’s face to make sure what he’s doing is pleasurable to him. Julian’s eyes are dark, one hand in Artemis’ hair as he gets sucked off in the middle of his house with family and slaves around. Not like slaves matter, but still. 

Artemis can feel it when Julian gets close, and then the master is grunting and his hands grip Artemis’ hair painfully hard, pulling him tight to the hilt as he spills hot seed down his throat. Artemis coughs and chokes, his throat rippling around Julian’s cock, but Julian lets up slightly and Artemis swallows, still coughing, and recovers himself. He tries to milk Julian as well as he can. Tries to make it good. Tries to repay him for buying him today. He wants Julian to like him. He wants Julian to think he’s an asset to keep around. 

Julian hums and Artemis slows, not wanting to overstimulate him accidentally. 

“Good boy,” Julian says, scratching Artemis’ scalp. “Very good. That’s enough now,” he says, and pushes him off slightly. 

Artemis pulls off, licking the head and his lips to clean them. He feels like he might throw up as he does it, remembering that Julian’s come is swirling around in his stomach, but he takes deep breaths and manages to calm down and settle. He knows that men can get angry if you can’t keep down their seed, like it’s offensive to them that you aren’t delighted to be digesting their come. Artemis has always been good about keeping it down, but sometimes he slips if he hasn’t had time to prepare himself, or if something jolts his concentration. Like now. But it’s alright. He can handle it. 

“Mm, come here now,” Julian says, motioning around him, and Artemis scrambles around and kneels by Julian’s side. “Head here.” Artemis obediently puts his head in Julian’s lap, and Julian’s hand is in his hair as he goes back to work. 

Artemis sighs, and after a minute he lets himself relax. Gods. Well, this is nice. Nicer than being shoved off and told to get out, anyway. The master’s lap is warm and he’s not uncomfortable. He appreciates it. He likes being touched after an encounter, being held. It takes a bit of the sting away. 

They stay there for another hour or so and Artemis feels himself falling asleep. He didn’t exactly get the best sleep last night—lying on a cot in a tiny holding cell will do that to you—and a lot happened today. He thinks he could pass out right here…

He wakes to the tightening of fingers in his curls and he starts slightly, blinking away the darkness as he remembers where he is. Julian laughs softly. 

“Ari, did you fall asleep?”

Artemis bites back a whine of contrition. “Mmm, yes, Dominus,” he mumbles as he gets back to himself. “M’sorry, Dominus.”

Julian huffs an amused laugh and sighs. “Mm, best let you go then. Go find Markus and have him show you where to sleep and all that. You can have an early night tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow. Stand up.” Artemis gets up and Julian pulls him down for a deep kiss. He smiles. “So sweet, you are. Go now.”

“Yes, Dominus,” Artemis says, feeling his eyelids droop even more. Julian smirks and gives his rear a little pat before going back to his work. 

Artemis goes to find Markus as instructed and eventually locates him in the office off the slave quarters' hallway. The room has a small desk with a laptop that Markus is working on, as well as bookshelves and cupboards lining the walls. There are boxes piled up and stacked chairs. Markus looks up when he comes in, smiling at him and taking off his glasses—ones Artemis definitely hadn’t seen him wearing before.

“Salvē, Artemis,” Markus says, and Artemis pauses. He supposes that someone told Markus his full name, or, who knows, maybe he’s listed on some home directory in their computer network or something. 

“Salvē, Markus,” Artemis replies. “Ah… Dominus said to come to you to ask you where the sleeping quarters were… I’m to have an early night. Because I fell asleep on him.” 

Markus seems not to register what Artemis said for a moment, but when Artemis half-smiles, Markus laughs, coming up to him and patting his shoulder. He seems glad that Artemis can make light of the situation. “Yes, probably best, then.” His eyes shine with mirth and Artemis soaks up the warmth from his hand. “Alright, let me just…” He goes to a cupboard and opens it, shifting things around until he comes back with a small stack of what look like clothes and sheets, and a cloth bag on top bulky with a few things. “Here you go,” he says, and Artemis takes the pile carefully. 

“Thank you…”

Markus nods, making sure he won’t drop it. “That’s your kit for a while… but just come back here if anything wears out, alright? Or if you’re missing anything. But I checked it’s all there so you should be good.”

Artemis gives him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Markus. I appreciate it.”

Markus returns the smile and nods to the door, leading the way. “Come with me.” They go down the narrow, dim hall to a flight of stairs. They go up it and are soon in the slave dorm. It’s a small room, but with a few high windows letting in the warm light of the setting sun. Three sets of bunk beds with baskets underneath make up the furniture. “This will be yours…” Markus says, motioning to the bottom bunk of a bed in the corner. 

“Alright. Thank you.”

“The drawer underneath is for your things. Subject to random inspection at times of course,” he warns. 

“Yeah, of course,” Artemis says as he sets his pile of things on the bed. None of it is his, not really. He doesn’t own anything and never has, save a bit of pecūlium. 

Markus nods. “The wash and shower room is next room over. The intercom is by the door, but it’s not for your use—besides emergencies.” He smiles and Artemis returns it understandingly. Markus turns to go. 

“Thank you, Markus, again,” Artemis says, and Markus looks back at him, a tired weariness in his eyes as he gives him another smile. 

“You’re welcome. Artemis.” He reaches out and gives his shoulder a squeeze before leaving. Artemis sighs and watches him go. Then he hears snoring. He looks around and sees a slave in a bunk sleeping. That must be the night doorman, he thinks. 

He puts his things away under the bed and goes to the communal bathroom. There, he rinses his mouth out with mouthwash and brushes his teeth. He splashes water on his face and gets some into his hair before going to back to the dorm, pulling off his tunic, and crawling into the bed he’s been assigned. 

The pillow and sheets are thin but stacked generously so they’re heavy, and he warms up quickly. He shivers, nearly weeping in relief as he curls up with his back to the wall in the dark room, the blanket pulled luxuriously up to his ears, his curly hair poking out the top. He hasn’t felt so… safe… in what seems like months. He barely let himself relax at his previous place, where he could get woken up at any hour of the night to service a customer. Of course that could happen here with his master… but it’s less of a given, he hopes. He sighs, and drops off into a deep sleep a minute later. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _tablīnum_ \- The office or study of the paterfamilias, usually open to the ātrium on one side and the garden on the other. Where he carries out business and receives his clients.  
>  _ātrium_ \- Open central court / formal entrance hall.  
>  _peristȳlium_ \- Colonnaded garden.  
>  _pecūlium_ \- A slave's saving fund for his freedom, or occasionally pocket money. In the world of 2770auc, it goes into a fund administered by the governmental Bureau of Slave Affairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also: [aylenwrites@tumblr](https://aylenwrites.tumblr.com/), [milarca@tumblr](https://milarca.tumblr.com/), and [milarca@ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milarca)


End file.
